


For Blue Skies

by MG12CSI16



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Non-Explicit Sex, Post S3, Semi AU, Sherlolly - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-09
Updated: 2015-02-09
Packaged: 2018-03-11 09:44:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,211
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3322814
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MG12CSI16/pseuds/MG12CSI16
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Following Moriarty's final defeat Molly and Sherlock finally get to deal with the aftermath of Sherlock's return and the year that followed. Semi S3 AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	For Blue Skies

**Author's Note:**

> Basically, if season 3 had taken an angsty AU Sherlolly turn and then season 4 ended with Moriarty being defeated (again, assuming Moran isn’t a part of it) followed by vomit inducing fluff it would look a bit like this.
> 
> Also, title comes from For Blue Skies by Strays Don't Sleep which I suggest listening to if you want music as you're reading.

It’s three nights after Jim Moriarty is killed and Sherlock looks impossibly fragile when Molly is finally able to trudge up the stairs of 221B. He doesn’t even seem to hear her footsteps as she moves across the floor at an agonizing pace and it’s not until she’s placing a small, shaking hand on his shoulder that he realizes he’s no longer alone and he jerks away from the touch so fast the only thing Molly can do is gasp.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers, seeing his face relax when he realizes it’s only her. “I didn’t mean to frighten you.”

Sherlock rolls his eyes but doesn’t try to shake off her touch, seems to lean into it as Molly feels herself start to shake and the tears are building in her eyes. The way her breath hitches seems to catch his attention and the look on her face is like a vice grip on his heart. He watches her as she slowly breaks down into nothing, her shoulders shaking as her body seems to curl in on itself and she looks impossibly tiny standing there in his sitting room.

His arm shoots out to wrap around her waist, like a reflex he can’t ignore, pulling her into his lap as she comes undone and ugly sobs tear from her chest, making her whole body quiver as she buries herself in him and all he can do is hold her. He knows nothing he says right now will matter so he plays it safe, says nothing at all as she cries herself out, the sobs soon fading into tiny hiccups and whimpers as she dries her eyes with the back of her hand.

Sherlock finds himself holding his breath as Molly composes herself, peeking up at him through red, swollen eyes.  He finds himself frozen, unable to move as she watches him, her shaky hands moving up to rest against his chest. She’s staring right at his lips, her head tilted towards him and he knows what she wants, can feel it radiating off of her with so much force he’s almost sure it should scare him.

He feels his breath hitch when she finally lurches forward, their lips colliding almost painfully as she kisses him with all the desperation he always imagined she would. She tastes like salty tears and bitter coffee, yet he finds it isn’t unpleasant and as much as he finds himself wanting it he knows it’s not right.

So he stops, one hand on her shoulder as he pulls away, feeling her struggle against his touch as she desperately tries to find his lips once more and his voice comes out as a cracked whisper.

“Molly…Molly stop,” he capture her face in his hands, forcing her to look at him through her tears. “It’s not right. Now right now, you’re tired and you’re upset and-“

“Please,” she whimpers, the tiny whine coming from the back of her throat interrupting his attempt to be reasonable. “ _Please_ Sherlock; just let me have this.”

And, despite every little voice that tells him it’s a terrible idea, he finds he can’t tell her no.

* * *

_The first time he kisses her is nothing like the second. He’s exhausted and bloody, barley able to climb through the window in the kitchen before he finds himself leaning heavily against the counter as his breath leaves him in ragged gasps. He’s not sure how she knows it’s him just remembers that when he looks up she’s standing there in her pajama’s with a face that’s etched with worry and fear._

_She doesn’t say much when her feet are finally able to move, just helps him to the couch as she goes to fetch some supplies and prays he doesn’t end up bleeding out before she can find the damn scissors she’d misplaced the other day. While she’s gone Sherlock squeezes his eyes shut against the burning in his side, ignoring the fact that he’s staining her couch with his blood, focuses instead on the sound of her hurried steps as she grabs what she needs before dropping down on the floor beside him._

_He knows it’s a bad wound, can tell by the way Molly sucks in a sharp breath before she peels away his soaked shirt. He digs his fingers into the couch, feels the tug of the needle as she works silently and listens to her steady breathing because right now it’s the only thing keeping him calm._

_When she’s finished he hears her snap off the pair of gloves she was wearing, glances over to see her cleaning up the blood soaked towels and the bowl of water that was now a deep red. She sets everything aside and nearly jumps when she sees him awake and looking at her, her cheeks flushing a light shade of pink._

_“You were lucky this time,” she tells him, “You could have easily bled out. Why didn’t you have one of Mycroft’s men help you? It would have been quicker.”_

_“I wanted to see you,” he says, shrugging despite the way it pulls at the fresh stitches in his side._

_Her eyes grow wide, colored with confusion as she scoots a little closer to the couch but says nothing, her slender fingers moving his curls away from his sweat covered brow. He tenses under the touch but finds her warmth is comforting and he allows her to continue running her fingers through his matted hair, wondering who exactly she was trying to comfort more._

_Her breath hits his cheek, warm and sweet and he finds himself twisting his head to the side, has to_ see _her for some godforsaken reason he can’t actually think of. He blames it on the blood loss, the fact that his adrenaline is slowly draining away and the pain in his side is intensifying, but he knows it’s not true._

_Sherlock glances up, noting for the first time how close she is and how beautiful she was in a way that really wasn’t so beautiful at all. Her eyes were tired and surrounded with dark circles, her hair matted from tossing and turning, she looked exhausted and still he finds he can’t stop looking at her._

_And maybe it’s a lapse in judgment he thinks, when he leans forward so unexpectedly she nearly jerks back, capturing her lips between his and listening to the surprised little moan she lets out. Her mouth is soft and warm, tastes like the remnants of the toothpaste she used before bed and_ god _she was heavenly._

_She kisses him back feverishly, a decade’s worth of want powering her movements as she leans closer and he has one hand over the back of her neck, keeping her flush against his chest. Then, as quickly as it began, he feels her pulling away and when he opens his eyes he sees her sitting there with her fingers probing her lips as if she’s not sure what’s just happened._

_And before Sherlock can say a word she’s on her feet, moving towards the bedroom in a rush of limbs and tangled hair._

_She doesn’t even look back._

* * *

He pulls away from her when the burning in his lungs is too great to bear, drawing in deep breaths as his chest heaves and she’s leaning her head against his shoulder, shaking with the effort of catching her breath. Sherlock shifts in the chair, his legs beginning to numb beneath her weight. His mind is reeling, trying to remind him that she’s upset and she isn’t thinking because if she was she would know how terrible this idea is.

When he looks down and her gaze locks with his she can tell what he’s thinking, her ability to read him with such ease nearly a perfect art by now and a part of him is grateful because he doesn’t have to say any of it out loud. She simply knows.

“The first time…you took me by surprise. I didn’t know what to do or think so I just sort of went with it. And then I remembered Tom and I couldn’t…I couldn’t do it.”

She shakes her head, visibly upset with herself because she should have said something that night, should have stopped him before they were in too deep. But she didn’t and instead she walked away, leaving him battered and confused on her couch and now...now she was unsure of where they stood, didn’t know if he’d still want her after all the time and heartbreak she threw right back at him.

Then, as if to answer all her doubts, Sherlock let’s a deep sigh rush from his lips, burying his face in her hair so he can smell her shampoo, wishing his stomach would unknot itself so he could breathe properly.

“I should have known,” he says quietly. “I should have seen it as soon as you walked into the room, when you were stitching me wounds, but I just wasn’t looking. I so desperately wanted to feel something, remind myself I was more than just a machine who’d spent the last year and a half killing people.” He let his lips trail over the shell of her ear, his warm breath making her shiver. “and when I realized you didn’t even care what I’d been doing, that the fact the blood of so many others was staining my hands didn’t seem to bother you…I realized I’d never wanted anything that badly before.”

He latches on to a spot just below her ear, eliciting a tiny whine from her before she manages to pant out,

“I’m sorry I walked away from you.”

But by now, he’s too far gone to hear her apology.

* * *

_Molly leaves the Watson wedding knowing that it’s over._

_She’s not even sure why she brought Tom with her in the first place but then she thinks of the maid of honor and how Sherlock seemed drawn to her in a way that made Molly’s skin prickle and for a moment, she’s glad she did._

_The majority of the day was spent in an attempt to keep the sour look off of her face whenever Tom spoke to her, let his hand wander down as he tangled his fingers with hers in the way that used to make her blush and giggle like a teenager and it’s not until now as she’s stomping towards her car knowing that she’s about to break his heart that she allows herself to be eaten by guilt._

_It’s not that she wants to do it; just that she knows it’s not going to work because while there’s nothing dark or toxic about their relationship, like there is when she’s with Sherlock, she also knows there’s nothing_ right _about it either._

_And Molly won’t live like that._

_So she ends it, outside of her flat while Tom grips the wheel and she thinks this may be the first time she’s ever seen him upset and her chest tightens a little more before she apologizes over and over. Then she gets out of the car, hurries towards her flat and doesn’t even look back._

_She can’t._

* * *

“You left him?”

Sherlock’s voice is laced with unanswered desire and disbelief (even though somewhere, in the darkest part of his mind, he knew they wouldn’t last), hitches the slightest bit when Molly nips at his bottom lip as she blindly stumbles backwards. She knows the bedroom is just a few feet away but her skin is crawling with impatience, belly filling with a desperate heat that’s threatening to consume her.

“I couldn’t stay with him,” she pants, “he looked like you and he sounded like you and every time I closed my eyes all I could picture was you. It wasn’t fair to him, taking the place of someone I couldn’t have. We were living a lie.”

Sherlock pushes until her legs hit the side of the bed, long fingers pushing her coat off her shoulders and towards the floor, hooking under her jumper and pulling it over her head. She gasps as the cold air hits her skin, wriggles her hips the slightest bit until her trousers slip past her hips and suddenly she’s bare beneath Sherlock Holmes’ gaze.

She crawls to the top of the bed, turning just in time to see his dressing gown fall to the floor and her eyes are raking over his body ravenously, the need to feel him against her so great she can’t help the whine that leaves her throat as she reaches for him. As soon as Sherlock hears it he’s on her, kissing her and whispering her name over and over, as if he’s not sure she’s really there. As if he’ll blink and suddenly she’ll be gone.

He pulls away from her long enough to draw in a breath but Molly takes advantage of his lax grip, wriggling out from beneath him and pushing him down, his mouth opening in surprise as she straddles his lap, but she silences him with a searing kiss before peeling off his shirt. She wants to know him, explore the parts of him she’s never seen or touched or tasted.

She wants _all of him._

Sherlock gasps as she places open mouthed kisses across his chest, lets her tongue dart out and run over the marks on his skin, the dips and valleys she’s found herself dreaming of more times than she can count. She reaches down to tangle her fingers with his, bringing his hands above his head with an impish grin painted on her face.

It’s not until she catches sight of the track marks, the ones that have been there since they met, mingled with the fresher ones that have only just begun to scar, that her face suddenly falls and the want that was bubbling inside her fades the slightest bit. She reaches out to trace one with a shaky finger and Sherlock’s eyes snap up to lock with Molly’s as she mutters,

“You scared the shit out of me, you know?”

Sherlock sighs at the broken whisper of her voice, buries his face in her neck and mutters a nearly silent, “I know.”

There’s a sudden stinging in Molly’s eyes as she looks away from Sherlock’s arm, wipes away a stray tear and presses a kiss to his hair, pulls him back so he’s looking right into her eyes.

“Promise me you’ll never go back to that Sherlock. Not even for a second.”

Her voice takes on a tight and pleading tone, cuts him deeper than a needle ever could, and all Sherlock can do is nod his head and hope she believes him as he pushes her back on the bed and she welcomes him inside of her with a whine and the breathy sound of his name on her lips.

* * *

_She surprises everyone in the room, including herself, when she slaps him._

_It isn’t something she’s expecting to do, simply a reaction she can’t seem to suppress as she does it again and again, tearing him apart in front of John and not caring a damn bit when the others in the room regard her with expressions of shock._

_She could have lost him and right now she’s too pissed and terrified to care about anything else because they don’t know how horrible it is to find him on the floor, convulsing and struggling for breath and_ dying _right in front of them the way she does._

_So she ignores John’s slack jaw and Mary’s wide eyes, doesn’t even take into concern Sherlock’s shocked and pained expression because she knows what this feels like._

_And hopefully, she prays, no one else will ever have to find out._

* * *

She comes with a scream, nails raking over his back as he thrusts roughly, his orgasm coming to a sharp crescendo just moments after her before he collapses on the bed beside her.

Molly rolls onto her side to face him and the apples of her cheeks a deep red, strands of sweat slick hair sticking to them. Her hand moves up to shakily rest above his heart, thumb moving hypnotically over the hot skin of his chest before it runs over the jagged scar from Mary’s bullet.

And suddenly, so quickly it nearly terrifies them both, her tears are staining his skin because all she can think is how he nearly died and she wasn’t there to save him.

Not like before.

But Sherlock doesn’t let her dwell on it for long, cups her face with his warm calloused hands and brushes away the tears as gently as he can.

 “It’s alright,” he whispers, “I’m alright.”

* * *

_She’s just come upstairs for her lunch break when she hears the commotion coming from down the hall, yelling and screaming and demands to prep an operating room as a gurney suddenly comes into view and all she can see is the mop of dark hair as her world suddenly turns upside down._

_She abandons her search for food and immediately moves towards the crowd, keeps her distance but manages to get close enough to make out his pale face as the doctors rush by and she’s almost sure she’s going to be sick._

_Molly finds John in the waiting room along with Mary some hours later, looking haggard and worn and when her eyes lock with John’s she loses it, falls into the chair beside her and cries even when John manages to pull her into his arms and she feels Mary’s fingers running through her hair._

_The only thing that’s going to make her better is him; living and breathing._

_And for the first time in a long time, Molly Hooper prays._

* * *

“I really thought you were dead,” she mumbles through her tears; wiping angrily at her eyes because she’s so tired of crying but all she can see is him lying in that hospital bed and remembering how hopeless they all felt.

She feels Sherlock’s arms envelop her as she slows her breathing, cheeks still damp though she’s finally managed to control the tears and suppress them into occasional sniffles. She presses herself into his chest, lets his warmth seep into her, listens to his breathing and feels the thump of his heart beneath her hand because he’s _alive_ and as long as she can help it he isn’t going anywhere.

“I love you,” she tells him, no longer afraid to say it because even if he can’t or won’t love her back she’s tired of denying herself the feelings that have been kindling themselves inside of her for so long.

She says it again as her lips find his, her breath warm and sweet as he listens to her say it over and over.

“I love you, I love you, _I love you_.”

Sherlock draws in a deep breath as she repeats the words like a mantra, hands cupping her face and holding her close and the only thing he can mutter is a breathless “I know,” and even though he doesn’t say the words back to her his voice is filled with such fondness it nearly knocks the breath from her.

And in that moment she decides “I know,” is plenty enough for now. 


End file.
